


I’d Give Up Forever to Touch You

by sesetre (orphan_account)



Series: What You Feel is What You Are [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sesetre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's world has come crashing down around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’d Give Up Forever to Touch You

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings, lots of grief and sadness and emotional turmoil. I know I started this series fluffy and happy and light, but the characters brought me to this dark, sad place.
> 
> Title from "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft’s voice had never shook more. He didn’t even expect Sherlock to respond. He knew he wouldn’t, in his current cocaine haze he probably couldn’t. So Mycroft sat down on the floor next to John’s chair and put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.  
Hours later that is how Lestrade found them. Sherlock still lost to the drugs and Mycroft asleep. He gently woke up Mycroft and they tiptoed out of the house.  
“What have you found out?” Mycroft asked to the only person he would allow see him at a loss for information.  
“It truly was an accident,” Lestrade looked as if he hadn’t changed clothes in a week, let alone slept, “Just an accident.”  
“That’s not even possible,” Mycroft scoffed not capable of believing that the family who survived Moriarity and hundreds of other criminals would be lost to a drunk driver.  
“Well, that’s what the evidence says, if Sherlock was,” Lestrade searched for the least offensive wording, “coherent, maybe he would find an ulterior motive, but I’m no Sherlock. Never will be. So, the case is closed.”  
“I’m not sure he will recover,” Mycroft whispered. Lestrade gathered his husband into his arms, unable to utter meaningless words of comfort.  
“They were his world. I never thought he would allow himself to love, to open his heart, to put himself at the mercy of his emotions. I never thought it could happen, but it did, not only once, but twice. And he was happy,” Mycroft’s voice broke. Lestrade tried to direct Mycroft to the car.  
“No,” he said, resisting, “I can’t leave Sherlock like this.”  
“Ok,” Lestrade sighed, “I’ll have, what’s her name today?”  
“Amelia,” Mycroft responded.  
“Right, I’ll have Amelia bring over some clothes. I’m going home for a shower and then I’ll start on the funeral arrangements.”  
“No funeral.”  
Mycroft and Lestrade jerked at the sound of Sherlock’s voice.  
“No funeral?” Mycroft asked.  
“I-I can’t,” Sherlock crumpled into himself, “No funeral. John and I talked about it once. After, after the Fall. We agreed. No more funerals. Not for him, not for,” Sherlock broke, Lestrade and Mycroft rushed over to catch him before he tumbled down the stairs.  
There were no more words, he just sat there sobbing, unable to complete the words, the words which would state with finality that he had lost the most precious thing in his life, his heart.  
“No funeral,” he finally managed to finish.  
“No funeral,” Mycroft affirmed.  
“Thank you,” he whispered.  
Mycroft tried not to wince at his words, he could count on one hand how many times his brother had thanked him.  
“Right,” Lestrade said, looking at the heap of brothers in front of him, “Into the car, both of you.”  
He manhandled Mycroft and Sherlock over to the car, determined to get the men cleaned and fed whether they liked it or not.  
 _Who was going to make sure Sherlock ate now that John’s gone?_ He wondered and nearly started crying himself. No, he thought to himself, that won’t do, you have to be strong for them. And then his mind betrayed him, showing him a laughing John at their pub, having a pint and commiserating about their husbands, it played on to John and Sherlock dancing at their wedding, to them standing with Elliot when he won his first place at the science fair. Sherlock smiling, John laughing, Elliot playing. All the happiest memories and there would never be any more. He buried his head in his hands finally allowing himself to grieve for his best friend, his brother really, and his nephew. His bright, precocious nephew for whom they had all fought so hard.   
Sherlock had allowed himself to be a husband and father, he allowed love into his life and this was how fate repaid him. Lestrade looked over to Sherlock, curled into the seat by the window, unblinking. He hadn’t even argued about getting in the car. Looking at him was like looking at a shell, there was nothing left inside, his eyes were empty, his posture, defeated. His only movement was his fingers on his wedding ring.  
——  
The next morning Lestrade was not surprised to find Sherlock unmoving in the chair facing the window. He hadn’t said a word since they took him from 221B. Mycroft was watching him nervously from the kitchen.  
——  
A week later and Sherlock still could not acknowledge the world. Mycroft had been forced to have him moved to a private hospital. The official diagnosis was catatonia brought on my post traumatic stress and depression. He sat in a chair by the window, twisting his wedding band until the orderlies moved him to his bed. The great Sherlock Holmes was lost to the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade or 'Amelia'.


End file.
